


Goodnight Darlings

by kinole009x



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, HIV/AIDS, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Freddie Mercury's Death, Protective Freddie Mercury, Sad Brian May, Sad John Deacon, Sad Roger Taylor (Queen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinole009x/pseuds/kinole009x
Summary: What happened on the Magic Tour in 1986 is not exactly clear, but tensions were running high.  Freddie told the band he couldn't go on.  The band trashed a dressing room.  And John threw his bass guitar across the stage.This is what happened on August 9, 1986.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 71





	Goodnight Darlings

**April 20, 1992**  
 **The Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert**  
 **Wembley, London  
**  
 _The night Freddie died, we said: “Well, we should give him an exit in the true style to which he’s accustomed.” - Brian May  
_  
***  
  
Brian looked up as he pinned the red ribbon that signified AIDS awareness onto the lapel of John's jacket.   
  
"All right there John?" Brian was smiling but his eyes were worried.  
  
No, John thought but he nodded and forced a smile onto his face. It was really a shadow of his former, sweet smile and both he and Brian knew it.  
  
Brian gave him an encouraging pat on the back and turned to Roger, who had just slipped on a pair of sunglasses and was adjusting the patterned scarf around his neck.  
  
"I don't see any sun," Brian said, trying to lighten the mood as he craned his neck to look at the clouds that were floating in the sky.  
  
"Yes, well," Roger shrugged. "Precautionary measures. In case something hits me in the eye on stage."  
  
Brian sadly looked down at his own AIDS ribbon. They both knew very well that the sunglasses were hiding the tears that Roger had continuously been blinking back, though he attributed them to allergies.  
  
At that moment, Brian saw the signal he had been waiting for and taking a deep breath, he walked out onto the stage and desperately hoped that his two bandmates were following him.  
  
A roar erupted from the audience and Brian gazed out at a sea of 72,000 people. 72,000 people who had loved Freddie. 72,000 people who were here to celebrate with them tonight.  
  
Grabbing the microphone, he shouted, "Good evening Wembley and the world!"  
  
The crowd shouted back at him.  
  
"We're here tonight to celebrate the life and work and dreams of one Freddie Mercury," Brian continued, before adding enthusiastically, "We're going to give him the biggest send off in history!"  
  
Roger stepped forward and addressed the crowd. "Yeah, today's for Freddie, it's for you, it's to tell everyone around the world that AIDS affects us all. That's what these red ribbons are all about."   
  
He touched his ribbon gently before exclaiming, "Cry as much as you'd like!"   
  
John felt his throat close up.  
  
Managing a smile, Roger turned and held his arm out. "John's got something to tell you."  
  
John stepped up to the microphone as Brian pumped his fist in the air encouragingly and clapped him on.  
  
"Hello," John said to the audience, and was momentarily surprised by the massive amount of sound that was aimed back at him.  
  
"First of all, Brian, Roger and myself, would like to thank all the artists that are performing here today in London, and they've given their time and energy to make this tribute to Freddie a reality to happen today."  
  
Allowing his gaze to sweep the audience, John noticed a giant black banner. _Freddie Mercury '46 to '91.  
_  
"First of all, the show..." John paused, before forcing himself to continue, "must go on and we will start with..." He took a deep breath as he listened to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, "an American band, three times Grammy award winners, please welcome..." And here, John raised his voice as much as he possibly could in order to shout, "Metallica!"  
  
As the first notes of Enter Sandman echoed in his ears, he lifted his hand to wave at the crowd, before hurrying off the stage. He felt relief spreading through his chest now that the entire opening ordeal was over, but that relief was quickly forgotten as he abruptly stopped.  
  
Overwhelming memories flooded his senses as he remembered the last time he had hurried off a stage.  
  
 **August 9, 1986**  
 **The Final Show of the Magic Tour**  
 **Knebworth Park, Stevenage**  
  
 _For some reason I just felt it would be the last show. I have no evidence, just a feeling. Fred was approaching forty and hadn't been totally comfortable about doing the tour and John wasn't very happy and felt under a lot of stress to continue. - Peter 'Ratty' Hince_  
  
***  
  
It was forty-five minutes until showtime.  
  
As Brian observed his fellow bandmates, he thought to himself that if this had been any other show in the history of Queen, they would have been in various stages of energetic preparation. But the simple fact was that this was the end of the tour and they were all very, very tired.  
  
So, instead, they all sat in the dressing room, surrounded only by the soft noise coming from the radio, while Roger absentmindedly twirled a drumstick through his fingers, and Freddie sat motionless, his forearms resting on his knees as he stared at the floor, and Brian continued to watch, and Deaky continued to drink...  
  
Deaky. He had been acting so strange this entire tour.  
  
"All right there, Deaky?" Brian called over to him.  
  
John's head snapped up.  
  
Roger smirked. "Is Veronica pregnant again?"  
  
"N-no," John answered quietly. "At least...I don't think so."  
  
And he had to admit to himself that it would be best if she wasn't. It was bad enough that, at this very moment, she was raising four children practically by herself...  
  
...how John missed her. And Robert, Michael, Laura, and Joshua. And if he had been in his right mind, he would have said that to Brian. He would have told him the truth; that he was terribly homesick. That even though they were surrounded by people all the time, he was desperately lonely. That he was creatively drained from fifteen years on the road and finding it very difficult to find meaning in his chosen path. That he feared he was becoming an alcoholic and even that realization hadn't been enough to make him stop drinking to excess on this tour. That sometimes the guilt was overwhelming, as he thought about how much he was missing at home and how Veronica was struggling to make it all work.   
  
John rubbed his left finger, where he usually wore his wedding ring, and immediately felt an arrow of guilt pierce his heart. He thought about her all the time, to the point where it literally drove him mad that she was miles and miles away when he so desperately needed her touch, and how even though he called her often, there was only ever time for short, meaningless conversations before the kids took over the phone, and how every time he left for a tour, she cried...  
  
And so he had stopped wearing his ring because it reminded him of all those things. And astonishingly, when he stopped wearing his ring, people began to talk to him. He hadn't realized before that the people they met on the road kept their distance if they saw a wedding ring. And though he hadn't strayed from Ronnie, and had just stopped wearing his ring because he wanted someone to talk to, the guilt remained.  
  
He could have said all that, but instead, he looked away and raised his glass to his lips once more.  
  
From his chair in the corner, Freddie sighed. "I can't fucking do this anymore," he muttered.  
  
"Do what?" Roger asked flatly, but Freddie shook his head.  
  
Brian and Roger exchanged a glance, before silently dismissing the comment. Freddie did have a flair for drama and he had said similar things before.  
  
Silence filled the room once more as the voice on the radio droned on.  
  
 _Every day, in San Francisco, two more men hear the grim news...You have AIDS, there's no cure. Since doctors in France and America isolated the virus in 1983...research has proceeded at a frantic pace._  
  
"Thank God that's not you, Freddie," Roger muttered.  
  
Brian looked up, his expression serious. "Don't even joke about something like that Roger."  
  
Freddie lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. "Well, even if it was me, so what?" he said with a dismissive laugh.  
  
 _The method used by the virus to destroy the body's immune system...has been discovered...but a cure still seems many years away. A major breakthrough has been a new blood test...that should ensure that in future...nobody contracts AIDS from a blood transfusion. But it's only just been approved for use._  
  
As he felt his three bandmates staring at him, Freddie lowered his eyes and continued to smoke.  
  
"You have it, don't you?" Roger said very slowly.  
  
"Have what, darling?"  
  
"AIDS."  
  
Freddie leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and allowed himself exactly twenty seconds to contemplate what his answer would be. He finally decided on the truth.  
  
"Be a dear, won't you, and don't tell anyone."  
  
Once more, Freddie dropped his gaze as he felt three pairs of eyes on him and as he tried not to drown in the stunned silence. But curiosity made him slowly look up from under his eyebrows and he immediately wished he hadn't. The three identical heartbroken expressions he was witnessing were almost too much to bear.  
  
"Fred," Brian said quietly, almost apologetically. "I'm so sorry - "  
  
"Brian, stop," Freddie interrupted. "Don't."  
  
Brian looked at him helplessly.  
  
"Sympathy is such a bore, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"Why didn't you tell us?" Brian asked in a hushed voice.  
  
"How long?" Roger said very suddenly.  
  
"What do you mean, darling?"  
  
Roger jumped out of his seat. ""How _long_ do you have left!?" he shouted.  
  
Freddie tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was spreading through his chest. "I don't know," he admitted.  
  
Silence again, except for that stupid radio. Freddie turned to John, who was staring into his drink.  
  
"Deaky, say something," Freddie implored him.  
  
Almost immediately, John got to his feet with only one desperate thought: that he needed to leave the room and right away. But before he reached the door, he bumped into a table, knocking a vase to the ground.  
  
The vase smashed into a dozen pieces, which promptly set Roger off. Turning, he used his arm to swipe everything off the dressing room table.  
  
Freddie jumped up and took the glass of alcohol out of John's hand.  
  
"This is why we tell you not to drink so much, darling," he said, trying his best to keep his voice light.  
  
As John stared at Freddie, he knew that his friend meant the comment to be more of a kindness than an insult. But all he could see was Freddie's sympathetic eyes, and his worried expression, and he could feel waves of concern radiating from him, and he was here right now, but in time, he would be gone and John couldn't bear that...  
  
"Well, we told _you_ to be careful and to stop having unsafe s-sex!" John said spitefully. "But you didn't listen!"  
  
Freddie's mouth dropped open as Roger grabbed the nearest chair and slammed it against the hard floor, breaking it in half.  
  
"Stop trying to compensate for your broken heart by breaking furniture!" Brian shouted at him.  
  
Turning on his heel, John left the room as quickly as he could.  
  
"This is exactly why I didn't tell you before!" Freddie said angrily. "Look at the way you're acting, like a bunch of children!" He then picked up the radio - which was the cause of all of this trouble! - and threw it against the wall.   
  
He, Roger, and even Brian all proceeded to destroy the dressing room together, releasing their despair and confusion and weariness until all that was left was a completely trashed room, littered with glass fragments and broken furniture and overturned tables and a radio that would never _ever_ give bad news again.  
  
As they all stood staring at each other, completely out of breath, Brian pulled Freddie and Roger into a fierce hug.  
  
"We need to pull it together and find John," he warned them softly. "We have a show to do."  
  
Freddie nodded, and Roger blinked back tears, and they all wondered where they should begin looking for their bassist.  
  
What they didn't know was that John was by himself, kneeling in front of a toilet while he retched over and over again, while clinging to his bare left ring finger.  
  
 **April 20, 1992**  
  
 _Freddie drew the attention away, and without Freddie there, I don't think John could face any of it. - Jacky Smith, President of the Official International Queen Fan Club_  
  
***  
  
"Deaky, please!"  
  
John shook his head at Roger's plea as he stared out at the brightly lit stage and listened to the roar of the crowd.  
  
"John, you've done this hundreds of times before," Brian reminded him, a gentle hand on his back.  
  
"This time is different," John said tightly as he clung to his bass guitar.  
  
Roger and Brian exchanged a glance. Quite frankly, they didn't need to be reminded that for the first time, Freddie wasn't with them.  
  
Darkness had fallen, the stage had been thoroughly rocked by the likes of Extreme, Def Leppard, and Guns N' Roses, and the crowd was shouting in approval, thousands of voices united as one.  
  
"I...I can't," John whispered. How could he go out on that stage without Freddie? Freddie had always been there to soothe his nerves before a show. His energy was infectious, his enthusiasm was contagious, and John often found himself bursting with excitement, as a result.  
  
"Deaky, we can't do this without you!" Roger insisted.   
  
They watched helplessly as John turned away.  
  
Brian wrapped an arm around John, and pulled Roger close, so that their heads were touching.  
  
"We need to do this," he said softly. "For Freddie. He deserves this wonderful celebration. And John, I'll bet anything that he'll be there on that stage with you tonight in spirit."  
  
Roger looked up suddenly; Brian had given him an idea.  
  
"Oh my _God,_ Deaky!" Roger exclaimed, forcing a note of awe into his voice. "Would y'look at that!"  
  
Slightly alarmed, John peered over his shoulder at the stage.  
  
"It's Freddie!" Roger shouted triumphantly, clapping John on the back. "Right there, center stage!"  
  
A chill ran down Brian's spine, before a burst of adrenaline surged through his veins. He knew exactly what Roger was trying to do.  
  
"Freddie?" John whispered, taking a step forward.  
  
Smiling, Brian played along. "What's he saying, Rog?"  
  
"He's saying, _Deaky, they're crying out there! Come to me, darling, we'll give them something to cry about! Come rock these fuckers with me!"  
_  
A stage hand was motioning at them wildly that it was time.  
  
Pushing John forward encouragingly, Roger thrust his drumsticks in the air, bellowed "For Freddie!" and ran further backstage, so that he and Brian could make their entrance on the opposite side of the stage, as planned.  
  
Freddie's voice _was_ there; John heard it clear as a bell, echoing through the speakers and reverberating into the air...  
  
 _This is what you wanted, this is what you're gonna get..get...get...get..._  
  
From across the stage, Roger and Brian gave John the thumbs up sign and as the opening chords of Tie Your Mother Down exploded from the sound system, John took a deep breath. Locking eyes with Brian, he walked out onto the stage, nearly blown away by the cheers of the audience.  
  
There was an explosion of smoke; the crowd screamed louder and John dared to believe that, just for a moment, Freddie really was there, running through the pyrotechnic haze.  
  
 **August 9, 1986**  
  
 _If people have to die because they wanna see us, I'll never perform live again. - Freddie Mercury_  
  
***  
  
Planting his feet in a fighting stance, Freddie thrust a fist out at the audience and shouted, "This is what you wanted...this is what you're gonna get!"  
  
Roars of approval rained down on him and continued to soak him and the rest of the band for the remainder of the evening. Freddie thrived off the deafening cheers and his energy infected the remainder of the band, even Deaky, and they put on one hell of a show, if Freddie did say so himself.  
  
But even so, things slowly began to decline.  
  
It started innocently enough, with Deaky constantly utilizing his stage bar, refusing to look anyone in the eye, and frequently wandering to the front of the stage, _much_ too close to the edge. Freddie knew the bassist was thoroughly lost in the groove but even so, John was making him nervous. He was Freddie Fucking Mercury, not a bloody babysitter!  
  
And so, he decided to take on the important role of breathalyzer; it was time someone tested Deaky's nonexistent sobriety! During a rousing rendition of Tutti Frutti, Freddie put his lips to his microphone and asked Deaky, quite boldly, what beat he was on.  
  
It wasn't meant to be malicious. Freddie truly wanted to know if Deaky's awareness was being impaired by his drinking. But the result was that Deaky stopped playing altogether. He stared at Freddie as the song trickled on without the driving force of the bass.  
  
Freddie certainly hadn't been expecting _that_ response.   
  
Brian's eyes widened as he shook his head, and Roger thumped on the drums as loudly as he could to distract from the sudden loss of half the rhythm section.   
  
As the crowd waited in anticipation, Freddie sidled close to Deaky and covering the microphone with his hand, he muttered, "Darling..."  
  
Deaky's accusing eyes bore into his own as his fingers twitched on the strings of his bass.  
  
"Darling, please," Freddie whispered, trying to use his eyes to the best of their ability, to convince the bassist to go on.  
  
Without so much as a second glance at any of them, Deaky arched his fingers and resumed the bass line, breathing life back into Tutti Frutti.  
  
After that moment, Freddie decided to allow Deaky to fend for himself. Besides, he had other things to worry about. Like the fact that a fan in the audience had been stabbed. And _died._ At a Queen concert.  
  
The thought sickened him to his very core and brought back inevitable thoughts of his own mortality.   
  
His initial attitude at the beginning of the evening had been AIDS be damned! AIDS wasn't going to get in the way of the band putting on an astonishing show! But as the hours passed by, and the crowd started to become hoarse, and the band grew weary, AIDS forced itself back into Freddie's mind and he thought to himself that this could be it. This could be the last show ever.  
  
In a sudden mood of defiance, Freddie addressed the audience.  
  
"I think most of you know that this is the last stop on our tour. You know that, don't you? And such a beautiful way to end it. I mean, look at the lot of you. I might also add that this has been the best European tour for us, thanks to all you fuckers out there. And earlier on there were rumors of us splitting up, but, I mean... fuck 'em. I mean really, look at this! How can you split up when you have an audience like this? I mean, really! We're not that stupid."  
  
And he turned and fixed every single member of Queen with a meaningful stare.  
  
Just as they were about to launch into the next song, Freddie thought he heard a thin wail from somewhere beyond. It sounded very much like the cry of a baby and he watched as Deaky closed his eyes, slowly turning away as a fresh wave of homesickness washed over him.   
  
Freddie learned later that a baby had indeed been born during the show and he hoped very much that perhaps the poor soul who had been stabbed had been reborn.  
  
By the time they reached the final song, Deaky had become a boiling tea kettle, ready to explode into a fit of shrieking, high pitched whistles at any moment. This was confirmed at the very end of Radio Ga Ga, when Freddie was busily assuring radio that someone still loves yooouuuu....  
  
It had always been Freddie's belief that John possessed a heart of gold, and so it was only natural that his gentle heart wouldn't have been able to withstand all of those tumultuous emotions that night. The pressures of life on the road, the homesickness, the drinking, the news of Freddie's illness, the tension that had permeated the stage for a good three hours...  
  
As the song ended on that one last magnificent note, Deaky wrenched his guitar strap off and lifted the bass over his head. With an impressive show of momentum, he flung the guitar at the other bass guitars that were standing neatly in a row near the platform, knocking them all over.   
  
And then, he ran from the stage, almost stumbling over his own feet.  
  
How they managed to get Deaky back on stage for an encore that consisted of an additional three songs was beyond Freddie. A miracle on earth, he supposed.  
  
But when the show was officially over, Deaky disappeared again. Instead of celebrating their triumph, Freddie found himself jogging down hallways, knocking on doors, shouting Deaky's name over and over again.  
  
He finally found the wayward bassist in a tiny broom closet. Perhaps John thought that, with his thin body and fluffy hair, he could have blended in perfectly with the mops and the brooms. But Freddie knew better.  
  
"Darling?" he whispered, as if he feared to disturb the bottles of bleach on the shelf.  
  
Deaky's back was turned, his face hidden in the shadows, but even so, Freddie could still see his shoulders shaking violently.  
  
Freddie sighed. While it was true that Deaky was facing a number of frustrations in his life, he knew there was one in particular that had pushed him over the edge tonight.   
  
_Fucking AIDS_ , he thought to himself, but said very gently, "Come now, darling. Who wants to live forever anyway?"  
  
When Deaky finally spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "I don't want you to live f-forever. I just want you to _live."_  
  
Freddie felt his lower lip begin to tremble because that's what he wanted, as well.   
  
Wiping the moisture that was tainting the corners of his eyes, Freddie let out a huff of a sigh. "I don't know what to say, darling."  
  
Apparently, neither did Deaky, for he only let out a shuddering sob as he leaned his head against the wall.  
  
Swallowing the lump of emotion that was trespassing in his throat, Freddie finally reached out, grasped Deaky's shirt, and pulled him away from the mops. Hugging the bassist tightly, he thought about how later, he'd stoutly deny that they had cried as one, how he'd claim that the broom closet had been a very tight space they had been forced to squeeze into in order to discuss the merits of Knebworth Park's custodial collection, but...  
  
Who was he kidding himself? How very fortunate he was to catch Deaky's tears, and how very lucky he was that Deaky was there to contain Freddie Fucking Mercury's sobs.  
  
***  
  
Ratty sighed irritably. The audience had gone home, the truck was loaded, and the crew was ready to leave, yet the band was nowhere to be found. He stalked around the backstage area, muttering to himself and wondering what rabbit hole they could have possibly managed to disappear down, when he heard soft voices coming from a nearby closet.  
  
Pressing his ear to the door, Ratty heard Brian's soft voice.  
  
"There's no excuse for our reaction, Freddie. We're supposed to be your family and we were shit friends instead. We'll make it up to you, I swear."  
  
"I'm holding you to that, darling," Freddie's voice answered, and Ratty thought he detected a smile in it.  
  
"From here on out, it's just us," Brian promised. "The four of us."  
  
"How about we make it up to him with a drink?" Roger suggested.  
  
Freddie snorted. "The only drink we'll be taking Deaky out for is a cold, riveting glass of water."  
  
They all laughed softly before Roger piped up, "I never took you for a Pete Townsend, Deaky, but if you want to take up guitar smashing as a hobby..."  
  
"Don't you dare encourage him!" Freddie exclaimed.  
  
Deaky groaned. "I need to go apologize."  
  
"Next time you feel the need to destroy something, perhaps choose something a little less valuable?" Brian recommended lightly.  
  
"Yeah, like one of Brian's clogs," Roger muttered.  
  
Four famous faces. Four incredibly talented individuals. Four masterful musicians. Yet, at this moment, they were just four friends, hiding from the world in a broom closet.  
  
Smiling to himself, Ratty wandered away to tell the rest of the crew that he had no idea where Queen could have gone.

 **April 20, 1992**  
  
 _Immediately after the show was over, in private, it hit Brian very hard. Hit them all. It was so, so sad. John was just in bits. It was a case of: “Right, that’s it, over, final”. - Tony Iommi, Black Sabbath_  
  
***  
  
 _We did it,_ Brian thought to himself as Liza Minelli finished belting out the last notes of We Are The Champions.  
  
They really did make it up to Freddie, in the end, by forming a protective shell around him and allowing him to do what he loved the most before he passed.   
  
Perhaps those last five years had been the best years, entirely spent in studios and on music video sets and in each other's company. There was no time to mourn and no room for grief; there was only room for creation, there was only time to assist Freddie in molding his incredible legacy.  
  
Brian felt hands clapping him on the back and his fellow performers congratulating him, but still, he kept an eye on John. As he watched the bassist bow deeply to the audience, he felt a sting of pride in the way John had held himself together tonight.  
  
But as the performers continued to wave at the audience, John's hand flew to his chest and he began to massage his heart. Roger moved closer and bumped shoulders with him, before John turned around, looking suddenly very lost, and moved away from the center of the stage.   
  
Roger stepped up to the microphone, the moisture in his eyes turning his blue irises into a shade of sea green as he yelled, "Goodnight, Freddie! We love you!"  
  
Brian's throat closed up at those poignant words, and at the sight of John pulling a rag from his pocket, covering his face, and rushing offstage.  
  
It took awhile for Brian to make his way backstage, what with all the hugs, compliments, and well wishes. But eventually, he was able to slip away. As he moved to a more isolated section of the backstage area, he looked around for the missing bassist.  
  
Tony Iommi put a hand on his shoulder and nodded towards a particular hallway. "He's fallen to pieces."  
  
Brian, feeling his own composure beginning to slip away, nodded his thanks and hurried away.  
  
***  
  
John's hands shook as he tried over and over again to light the cigarette that was pressed between his lips. Tears dripped off his nose as he eventually gave up, sunk to his knees, and pressed his face into his hands.  
  
The Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert had been, without a doubt, one of the most difficult experiences of his life.  
  
The cigarette fell from John's lips and rolled down the hall, where it was promptly squashed by the thunderous arrival of Roger, who fell to the floor and pulled John into a crushing hug.  
  
"Don't cry, Deaky," he whispered in a sort of emotional ramble, as he himself began to leak an abundance of tears. "I'd hate for you to become dehydrated because I forgot which way the water cooler is, and I'll be damned if anyone gives you a _real_ drink and...and...t-there there, everything's going to be all right, truly I know it will..."  
  
They were both swept up in an entirely new embrace as Brian arrived, holding them close and adding his sobs to their own.  
  
United in their grief, they remained tangled together in a remote corner of Wembley Stadium for an entire half an hour. No one spoke until a gentle breeze blew down the hall, ruffling Brian's brown curls, fondly tugging Roger's shirt, and brushing Deaky's cheek with a soft kiss, though there were no open windows or open doors.  
  
Brian slowly lifted his head and whispered hoarsely, "He was here tonight. I know he was."  
  
They were very quiet as they listened intently to the silence. And as the breeze traveled back from whence it came, stirring the leaves of a particularly hideous potted plant, they could have sworn they heard a whisper in return.  
  
 _Goodnight, darlings. I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last fall after doing some research on the Magic Tour, not really intending to publish it here on AO3 or...basically ever. But after clearing out some laptop files today, I couldn't bear to just delete it. And so, thank you for taking the time to read it; it was a particularly heavy piece to write, but I hope you found some beauty in it.


End file.
